


Intervention

by dieforlilyevans



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, Eventual Smut, F/M, Miscommunication, Modern AU, Strangers to Lovers, bellarke AU, unforeseen circumstances lead to karaoke and bed-sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dieforlilyevans/pseuds/dieforlilyevans
Summary: Attempting to stop a mugging and getting caught in the fray, Bellamy meets Clarke. Unforeseen circumstances mean the pair of strangers face spending the weekend together, with a potential reward as the goal on the other side. But will the reward they find be the one they were looking for? Or will fateful interventions keep them from gaining anything at all? (Part 1/3)





	Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> Right so I got the idea for this fic around season 2 and managed to have procrastinate this far; let's see if I manage to finish it or not! Rating is subject to change depending on how later parts work out. This is my first time using AO3 so please let me know if anything seems awry. Also I listened to Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars a lot whilst writing this, if that adds anything at all. All in all, I hope you'll enjoy.

He’d only stepped out for milk. That was all. He hadn’t asked for any of this.

“My bag! That man – he’s taken my bag! Someone stop him!”

But then again, who else did Bellamy have to blame for this besides his conscience?

“Sorry—sorry, excuse me— _get out of the way!_ ” In the brief moment it took for him to decide to give chase, Bellamy had imagined the pedestrians in front of him parting like the Red Sea, the mugger tripping on uneven pavement, or a car blocking their path – maybe even running over their foot, cutting them off. Some form of divine intervention. A little help.

No such luck. He’d flown through a crowd of young professionals on their way in to an office building in a flurry of papers; Starbucks cups falling to the floor and exploding like fragrant, scalding bombs. He’d cleared the pulled-taught leash of a yapping chihuahua like a hurdler, wind whistling in his ears, and managed to dodge the trash can the mugger had kicked behind them and in to his path; but the empty (thank god) stroller left unattended outside the coffee shop on the corner was his undoing. Bellamy’s foot caught on the front wheel and he staggered, hopping in an attempt to keep his balance, losing precious moments in the process. When he looked up again he expected the mugger to have vanished, the sweat on his brow to have been for naught.

“You asshole! Look what you’ve done!”

Further up the street the mugger was on the floor – he’d collided with a display table outside an art supply shop, sending both the table and the shop assistant packing it away flying. Bellamy broke in to a run once more. He reached them just as the purse-snatcher was getting to his feet. Too tired and frustrated to come up with a witty quip to throw, he settled for simply reaching out and taking hold of the bag’s strap in both hands and giving it a firm tug – the man on the other end of the strap staggered but, to Bellamy’s astonishment, did not relinquish his grip.

“Are you kidding me?” Bellamy grit his teeth, widening his stance as the tug of war commenced; who the hell was this guy? He was wearing a balaclava for crying out loud – what was in this bag?

A crowd was beginning to gather now, forming a circle of smart phone cameras as the two men grappled. However, all seemed reluctant to have any physical involvement. Until—

“Someone call the cops!”

A third pair of hands latched on to the bag strap – those of the shop assistant, who was grunting with exertion in her attempted to pry the would-be robber’s fingers away – when this proved futile she grabbed his jacket, trying to wrestle him bodily to the ground. With his opponent distracted, Bellamy decided enough was enough and took his chance, letting go of the strap with one hand, clenching a fist and swinging. Balaclava-boy turned at the last second, finally giving up his grip on the bag to duck and twist out of the way – and at this point it was too late for Bellamy’s hand to change its course.

The next thirty seconds seemed to happen in the blink of an eye; Bellamy’s fist collided with the shop girl’s nose, her blonde head snapping backwards as she was sent sprawling; the bag dropped to Bellamy’s side, swinging triumphantly in his grip; and the purse-snatcher turned, forcing his way through the ring of onlookers and taking off down the street.

“Shit. I’m—oh… oh shit,” Bellamy cursed, quickly kneeling beside his floored comrade; she was sitting, hand cupped beneath her bleeding nose “I’m so sorry, I-“

“You get the bag?” She interrupted him, her voice thick – a little blood had reached her lips and chin, flecking her blouse with red as she spoke.

“Yeah – yeah, I got it.” He held it up, standing and offering his free hand for her to take.

“Well, that’s the important thing.” The girl mumbled – her eyes crinkled at the corners, so Bellamy guessed she was smiling, albeit pained. The hand over her face made it hard to be sure.

As he helped her to her feet he heard a cry of delight from behind him from who he could only assume was the bag’s owner; a middle-aged, tangerine tanned woman with jeans so white they were matched only by her teeth. She had her shoes – ridiculous lime green heels – in one hand, having shed them somewhere along the way in her pursuit.

“Ah! Ah- _haha_!” She crowed; Bellamy had to fight the urge to take a step back – she looked to be seconds away from planting a huge, glossy kiss on him “You wonderful young man!”

It was coming – Bellamy could see her swooping in, manicured nails ready to pluck at him; he smartly side-stepped, hands outstretched to conserve his personal space, revealing his bloodied companion “Woah- uh, I can’t take all the credit. I had some help.”

“Oh?” The woman halted, taking a moment to view the shop assistant; the girl lowered her hand and gave her best attempt at a smile, but the blood from her nose had run in to her mouth, leaving her teeth grimly outlined in red “Oh. Well, thank you too.”

“Don’t mention it.” When she spoke more spots of blood shook free, causing the bag’s owner to rapidly move out of the way, instinctively twisting to protect her spotless jeans.

Escaping the encounter unscathed (no pinched cheeks or over-enthusiastic thank-you kisses), Bellamy watched the woman disappear in to a car that had been driven round for her, before glancing at the business card she’d practically forced on him with a perfumed breath in his ear – “Should you want compensation.”

As the car pulled away he turned back to the shop assistant, who was fumbling with a crumpled tissue from her back pocket – it was about as useful as attempting to subdue a waterfall with a hand towel “Hey – let me take a look at that.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, I know how to-” She pulled back, but didn’t resist when he gently pried her hands away so he could assess the damage; she moved her hands to her hips, one foot tapping as she tilted her head back and waited for the verdict.

“It’s not broken.”

“Oh thank god-” Her relief was a gust of breath, her arms flapping down to her sides and her eyes closing; Bellamy’s mouth picked up in one corner.

There was a lot of blood, yes, and a painful-looking cut the length of his thumbnail across the bridge of her nose where he’d split the skin, but apart from that she seemed relatively unscathed – maybe she’d wake up with black eyes, maybe not; Bellamy couldn’t tell.

“Even so, it’s going to swell up. Let me patch you up – my place is just up the street.” The offer was the least he could do. She was the only one who had dived in to the fray to help him, and come off worse for wear because of her heroics.

“But my shift isn’t over.”

“I think they’ll understand.”

 

 

It wasn’t until they’d reached Bellamy’s door that he realised he hadn’t asked her name.

“Uh-“ He turned to her; the entire front of her powder-blue blouse was dyed crimson by this point. He’d remarked earlier, unhelpfully, that a nosebleed of that magnitude had to be some sort of achievement. She didn’t seem thrilled by the comment “What should I call you?”

“Nice things. My nose really hurts.” Her good mood had lessened considerably on the walk, and although Bellamy could hardly blame her, she could have declined his offer– they could have parted ways and forgotten the whole incident.

“Okay then princess.” He turned away, putting his key in the lock with a little more force than was necessary.

Upon stepping inside, Bellamy felt a wave of regret lapping at his ankles, slowly making its way upwards. Besides his sister Octavia and her boyfriend he rarely had company here, and his apartment was hardly in a state for entertaining guests. He felt this fact stabbing at his pride, and scanned the room with a growing scowl. The walls were bare brick, left the way he’d found them, but the mouldy carpet he’d had to strip away himself, leaving sad-looking brown-grey floorboards – even so, they were an improvement. His sister had covered the worst of the wood rot with rugs, anyway. He had no television, but there was a much-loved radio sat on the windowsill leading out on to the fire escape, accompanied by an ashtray that was all but empty, and a paperback folded open to save his place. Beyond the sagging but satisfactory olive green sofa - which had a couple of coffee-stained National Geographic magazines tucked under it to compensate for the one broken leg - was the kitchenette, nestled in an alcove, breakfast and lunch plates stacked precariously on the draining board. A pile of dirty clothes – which in all fairness he had been preparing to take to the laundrette the next day – rested in the middle of the floor. His desk was a nightmare of papers, books, post-it notes and his senior citizen of a laptop, as well as a novelty lamp in the shape of a marble bust that his sister had bought him for the previous Christmas. Apart from this room there was his bedroom and the bathroom, and that was it. It was his, and it was more than enough.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Door on the right. I’ll get the ice.”

“Also, could I borrow a shirt? I can’t walk home like this.” She walked past Bellamy, plucking at her blouse, blonde hair bouncing against her back and catching the light as she passed him – she seemed to breeze through like a draft; Bellamy imagined his belongings rustling, making room for her as she strode by.

Bellamy bristled slightly; yes, he was the one trying to make amends here, but she was pushing her luck a little “I still don’t know your name.”

“I don’t know yours either.” Her reply was followed by the bathroom door closing, and Bellamy was free to scowl after her. This had been a bad idea. This girl was clearly a brat.

Even so, he’d offered to patch her up – and that he would. He got his rudimentary first aid kit from one of the kitchen cupboards and some ice from the freezer, which he wrapped in a clean dishcloth to make a cold compress. When the girl returned she had washed away all of the blood – her face he noticed, now that he had a chance to see it, was frustratingly exquisite. She had bright blue eyes the same shape as a cat’s, gently rounded cheeks and a dimpled chin, a mouth that seemed to turn up at the corners despite her mood; his eyes lingered on the beauty mark above her upper lip.

“Can I get that shirt?” She asked, a wad of tissues still clumped in one hand; she held them to her nose then, as if she could tell how closely she was being examined and wanted it to end.

“Sure.” Bellamy’s earlier irritation had receded somewhat, and he pushed away from the counter, going to his bedroom and returning with a simple grey t-shirt “Will this do?”

“That’s great. I’ll just-” She took the shirt in one hand, pointing vaguely to the bathroom with the other and then hurrying away – some of her bite from moments before seemed to have vanished too.

Bellamy resumed his post against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. He scuffed his shoe against a knot in the wood on the floorboards, suddenly aware of the blood pounding in his ears.

“It looks okay though – my nose?” When she returned she was wearing his t-shirt, her bloodied one crumpled in her hands “Not a total mess?”

“It’s fine. It’s a good nose.” Bellamy said before he could help himself, quickly adding “I mean my fist clearly liked it enough to want to get closer to it, so…”

She laughed; he straightened up slightly, allowing himself a small smile as he motioned to the arm of the sofa – she sat there, fingers pressing gingerly around her nose “You’re right, it’s not broken. But I can feel the swelling already, it hurts-“

“Don’t touch it then.” Bellamy suggested; she scowled, but her mouth remained upturned.

“You say that—but isn’t that what you’re just about to do?” She muttered, eyeing the small gauze pad he was currently holding as he rummaged through the first aid kit “I already cleaned it. Don’t bother with antiseptic – anything too harsh might—”

“I don’t have any anyway.” Bellamy shrugged, taking a small roll of medical tape “Don’t have any band-aids either. This will have to do.”

“Who doesn’t have band-aids?” She seemed appalled, but held perfectly still as he stood in front of her, gently taping the piece of thin gauze over the cut on her nose.

“Someone whose sister gets in a lot of fights.”  Bellamy explained; he was taken aback by how tired he sounded. He made his sister sound like a liability – really, he relished the times when she came to him for help. These days it was happening less and less frequently.

“Steady hands. I can tell you do this a lot.” She’d seemed surprised by his answer; and now Bellamy felt as if he was the one being scrutinised as he pulled away. He frowned, putting the icepack in to her hands and going back to the counter to pack up the first aid kit.

“Oh really?”

“I’m taking weekend classes to be an EMT.” She informed him; Bellamy had expected it to be a self-righteous statement – it wasn’t. Not even a hint of it.

“Is that so?” He leant against the counter, watching as she lifted the icepack to her nose; it made her wince, her eyes closing.

She nodded, glancing at him over the top of the icepack “I want to be a paramedic.”

“You work well under pressure?”

She nodded again.

A silence began to form – Bellamy could feel it coming, one of those silences where both parties take a moment to re-evaluate how they ended up in this situation. He shifted uncomfortably against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck; she was watching him, the makeshift icepack lowered in to her lap by this point, being turned over and over in her hands. Was this the part where Bellamy found a roundabout way of convincing her to leave? The way she was watching him made him want to run and hide.

“What was it the woman said to you?” Her voice startled Bellamy and his elbow bumped against a mug on the draining board, making it clatter “Before she got in the car? When she gave you her card?”

Bellamy patted his pocket. He had all but forgotten about the business card tucked in there; taking it out and scanning it, then flipping it round and doing the same to the reverse.

 

**VANESSA HARINGTON**

 

There was a number and an email on the reverse of the card, but no job title, no address. It could hardly be called a business card – just expensive paper and embossed gold lettering.

“Can I see that?” His houseguest held her hand out and Bellamy handed it over; she studied it, but only need to do so for a moment before letting out a gasp “Do you know who this is?!”

“Should I?” Bellamy frowned.

“She’s on TV. She’s a talk show host. I wondered why she looked familiar!” The way she was staring at the card made it look like it had a novel painted on the back of it “Have you seen her show? She’s probably the most obnoxious woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Hell, if that was the case, maybe he should have kept the bag for himself. Octavia’s birthday was coming up.

“Yeah, she seemed like it. And no, I don’t have a TV.” Bellamy shrugged; she offered him the card back and he took it, taking it over to his desk and dropping it there to be forgotten.

“…You’re not gonna call her, are you?”

“…No?” Bellamy turned slowly “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I mean—it was a nice act and all, but taking anything from that woman would kind of cheapen it, wouldn’t it?” The icepack, now back over her nose, muffled her voice slightly, but her tone was clear.

Bellamy’s head tilted a fraction, jaw working as he mulled over what she was implying “Do I look like a scrounger to you?”

“What?” Blue eyes widened and a hand outstretched, as if she wanted to pluck what she’d said back out of the air “No, that wasn’t what I-”

“You know how many people would kill for a handout like this?” Bellamy had absolutely no intention of taking the reward. Really, he didn’t. He wouldn’t know what to do with it. Now, pride wounded and bristling like an agitated big cat, he was just playing devil’s advocate “Who’d take it as a godsend? Not everyone can afford to turn down opportunities like that just to take the moral high-ground. I was just out, going to get milk, and I decided to intervene. If I’d known all the facts then, I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t have acted differently. Maybe I’d have that bag here right now. Maybe I’d be celebrating the weight it’d take off my shoulders.”

He was painting a picture of someone he could have easily been.

She opened her mouth, closed it again. Let out a breath through her nose. Bellamy glanced down to the bloodied shirt she had crumpled on her lap – from where he was stood he could read the name on the label. He wasn’t surprised that it was expensive. Bellamy was not above making assumptions, or pressing buttons, and right then he was on a roll.

“I’ll bet-”

“I’m going to stop you there. I don’t need this.” She stood up abruptly then, setting down the ice pack on the suitcase with a cork board on top he used as a side table and heading for the door “Thank you for your help. I’ll wash your shirt and return it to you.”

Dazed, Bellamy’s mouth remained open; all the words he’d wanted to throw were trapped, hanging like stalactites in a cave. All he could pull together were sneering teenage scraps “I-… What? Reality a bit too harsh for you, princess?”

“You know what I meant. There was no need to be-” She had one hand on the door handle, lips twisting as she considered her parting words; Bellamy saw her eyes turn icy and hard, like gemstones “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“How so?” Bellamy leant back against his desk, letting his head roll on to his shoulder as he looked at her to show just how little he cared; the sooner she left, the better.

“Had to be a reason you’re here all by yourself, nothing else to do on a Friday evening. Being a self-righteous asshole would just about do it.”

The insult itself was not significantly wounding, but way she was looking at him made goose bumps rise on Bellamy’s arms, and when she did slam the door behind her he suddenly wondered why he’d been in such a hurry for it to happen. A long moment passed before he moved; he picked up the business card, staring at it for a heartbeat before tearing it in two. All he could hear was the way the door’s slam had resounded around the room, and the pounding of his own blood in his ears.

 

 

When she returned to his apartment late that night Bellamy could not shake the feeling that he was being given a second chance by the universe. After all, he didn’t even know her name.

So late was the hour that it wouldn’t be irrational to think he’d dreamed her; he was glad he’d thought to pull on sweatpants despite the haze of sleep still clinging to him. She was stood in the corridor, bags at her feet, head held in such a way that it was very clear that what she was about to say was causing her physical discomfort.

“I need your help.”

This woke Bellamy up a little faster, a certain instinct thrumming in to action somewhere in his chest. He glanced down at the bags “You running away from someone, princess?”

“No.” She scoffed, eyes rolling “Don’t worry, there’s no big bad ex who’ll come looking for you. _You’re_ the one who gave me the black eyes, remember?”

Bellamy’s mouth turned down at the corners and he shifted his weight around on his feet; there was indeed light purple bruising beginning to show around her eyes. He’d feel guiltier if her words from earlier weren’t still ringing in his ears “Well if I’m such an asshole, why should I-”

“Peace offering.” She held up a carton of milk that Bellamy hadn’t noticed before “You said you were out earlier. Look – if I had anywhere else I could be I would be there. But honestly, I don’t. Just hear me out.”

Bellamy considered this for a moment; she held his gaze. None of this was an apology, he realised – but it was also quite clear that he wasn’t going to get one of those even if he asked for one. He wasn’t sure he was really deserving of one, anyway. He reached forward, picking up one of her bags.

“Milk goes in the refrigerator. If your sob story isn’t good enough I’m keeping it and you’re leaving. And tell me your goddamn name.”

Clarke Griffin’s sob story, it transpired, was fairly good. The landlords of her building were notorious for corner-cutting, and when the plumbing they had tried to fix themselves finally burst there was little the tenants of the building could do apart from leave. Clarke had gotten it the worst since her apartment was the basement – all she had that wasn’t completely ruined by the murky, foul-smelling water was in the bags she’d brought with her. With no insurance and very little chance of getting her deposit back, she was out on her own with nowhere to go.

“I’d stay with my friend Wells but he’s studying abroad for the year.” She explained, now sat on Bellamy’s sofa and nursing a mug of tea between her hands “Politics. Basically following his dad around. I don’t know anyone else around here who could help.”

“What about your parents?” Bellamy asked; he’d been hesitant to do so earlier on in the conversation, on account of the fact she hadn’t mentioned them herself.

She shook her head before lowering her lips to the rim of her mug “Not an option.”

Bellamy decided to leave it at that “Alright… So, are you asking to move in? Because quite frankly I-”

“No no, no, that’s not what I’m asking.” She shook her head even more vehemently than before.

“What, then?” Bellamy’s head tilted, his arms folded across his chest; he was leant against the kitchen counter, his own drink practically untouched, forgotten and going cold. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at her since the moment she’d set foot inside, and honestly it was starting to frustrate him.

She sighed, setting her mug down on the floor and lacing her fingers together; he watched her mouth move, compressing, teeth appearing to tuck her bottom lip away and hide it “Do you still have that business card?”

Bellamy’s face went through a sequence of expressions with such rapid fluidity that it would have been comic, were it not for the fact it landed on infuriating smugness “Someone’s changed their tune.”

“Well,” Clarke drew herself up slightly, chin raised “I’m nothing if not adaptable. And right now I need that money.”

“Who says I’d let you have any anyway?”

“I seem to recall you saying something about not being able to ‘take all the credit’. That you ‘had some help’.” She set her chin on top of her interlaced fingers, looking up at him with a small you-can’t-fight-facts shrug.

“…Am I being conned?”

“Bellamy,” it was the first time she had said his name, and it sounded good coming from her mouth “we’re the ones doing the conning. This woman probably wipes her nose on more cash than we see in a month. We’ll call her, suck up to her a bit, and then walk away with whatever she gives us and never have to think about it ever again.”

“…You’re not the same person who came in here earlier.” Bellamy was convinced of it; such a rapid turnaround was not possible.

“Like I said, I’m adaptable.” Clarke got to her feet, taking her mug and walking past Bellamy to set it on the draining board “Trust me, if it wasn’t for the fact that all my worldly possessions are now either twenty-thousand leagues under the sea or in those bags, I wouldn’t be doing this. But right now I can admit I need a little help.”

She leant against the counter opposite Bellamy, folding her arms to mimic him. He noticed for the first time that she was still wearing his t-shirt. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak, and when he didn’t she took the prerogative and continued.

“So, first thing tomorrow we call Vanessa Harington, hear what she has to say. Hopefully sometime that day – although I have my EMT class, so ideally in the evening – we’ll go and meet her, take what she has to offer, split it, and then I’ll be out of your hair before you know it. I promise.” She held out her hand “And this way you don’t have to feel guilty about taking the reward, because I’m pressuring you in to it. Deal?”

Bellamy paused, considering this; her gaze was unwavering “Who says I’d feel guilty?”

She was loading and aiming a retort when he clasped her hand, and he could see relief visibly taking the weight from her shoulders; she shut her eyes for a moment and Bellamy realised she’d been reigning in her tiredness, the hard, deal-making demeanour carrying her through until she could safely relax “Thank you. You must think I’m so… I don’t even want to know.”

“I think you’re someone who got landed in a crappy situation, who’s getting themselves out of it. You didn’t know what you were going to come home to when you were lecturing me earlier. No hard feelings.” Bellamy shrugged, letting go of her hand and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thanks.” Clarke said, her voice low; then “But I don’t think you could really call it lecturing-”

“I said no hard feelings. Let’s not spoil it, shall we?” He snorted softly, and the realisation that he was joking made her roll her eyes.

She turned, hands on her hips as she surveyed the sofa; but Bellamy shook his head.

“No, you can have my bed, I’ll sleep out here.” He said, reaching for one of her bags.

“I don’t think so.” Her hand closed around the bag strap at the same moment his did, and they shared a glanced that quickly brewed an embarrassed snigger from both of them.

“The last time we fought over a bag things turned bloody.” Bellamy reminded her.

“Exactly – technically, I owe you.” She made a comical fist, but all Bellamy did was use her loosened grip to yank the bag away from her and turn to walk towards the bedroom “Hey!”

“Look, it’s two in the morning. Don’t you have a class to get to tomorrow? You really wanna drag out this back and forth?” Bellamy set the bag beside the bed, turning to face her with his hands on his hips as she followed him through to her room.

“…Fine.” Nose in the air, Clarke gave in “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So what’s for breakfast?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

 

 

“I’m sorry Mr Blake but Miss Harington will be out of office until Monday.”

“Monday? Look, we don’t need to necessarily speak to her in person—” Bellamy glanced at Clarke, who was stood by the window and nibbling the skin around her thumbnail; she nodded to affirm this “We were just wondering what it is she wanted to give— _say_ to me, should I get in contact after what happened yesterday. Which is what I’m doing now.”

“She gave me specific instructions Mr Blake – should you get in touch, I’m to wait until she could deal with you personally.”

Bellamy cringed slightly at the sound of that. He’d put the call on speakerphone, so Clarke was also able to appreciate the suggestiveness of the order; she smirked “Sounds like you’re in for a treat.”

“And Clarke?” He shot the comment half to the man on the phone, half to Clarke herself.

“Miss Griffin too, yes. So, shall I arrange a time for you to come by the studios on Monday?”

Bellamy glanced at Clarke once again. She shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck “That means I’m here till Monday. So, if that’s okay…”

“Monday is fine.” Bellamy concluded, and the time was set.

Clarke was already on her way to the kitchenette, pouring her second cup of coffee for the day and checking her watch. Making the call to Harington had been the first order of business for the morning – Bellamy was still in his sweatpants, dark hair in total disarray from a fitful night on the sofa. To his dismay, Clarke was still wearing his t-shirt, with only a pair of jersey shorts beneath. He had been able to focus on little else other than the way the shorts rode a little higher up her thighs as she passed him, and the way that the sleep-rumpled t-shirt – _his_ t-shirt – looked better then than it ever would again. He pulled at the blanket he had slept under so that it rested across his lap.

“Right, so I’ve got to get to my class. Are you going to be here when I get back or do you have a key you can lend me? What is it you do?” She was a morning person, evidently, eyes as bright as her voice.

He worked as security at the local museum a couple nights a week; it wasn’t much, but it paid the bills. What he most enjoyed was when the school trips came through – watching the small faces light up the way that his once had, on the odd occasion that his mother had been able to afford to take him out for the day.

“I’ll be here.”

“Okay. Well,” Clarke drained the last of her coffee; she was scrutinizing him again – Bellamy feigned a yawn as a reason to duck his head and look away “I’m gonna shower – I’ve brought my own towels, so…”

She walked towards the bathroom but paused, turning back to him; Bellamy was pretending to be checking something, anything on his phone, but he could feel her gaze. There was a beat.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me staying here till Monday?”

“I said it was fine, didn’t I?” Bellamy glanced up; she was frowning slightly, her brows pinched together.

“I know, it’s just… you seem so solitary. I’m really conscious that I’m intruding.”

He shrugged, a ghost of a smile crossing his face “This, coming from the girl who had no one else to turn to in her hour of need except this self-righteous asshole?”

She nodded once, smirking a little as she considered this “Touché.”

Once he heard the bathroom door close Bellamy got to his feet, stretching his arms up above his head and letting his hands come to rest on the back of his neck – he was sore from his night on the sofa. Hopefully Clarke would leave enough hot water for him to try and wash away the knots in his back. That thought, coupled with a line of quiet song drifting beneath the noise of the shower spray coming from the bathroom, conjured up an image in Bellamy’s mind that made his cheeks flush with heat. He shook his head a little, walking to the window, but the sunlight blazing in and warming his bare chest did little to dispel the scene forming in his head. One hand dropped to his crotch; his boxers were feeling tighter than was comfortable. Now that he was thinking about it, it had been a while since there had last been anyone else other than him in that shower; and it had been a shared experience.

A knock at the door made him jump, swearing under his breath and shaking his head once again as he padded across to answer it.

“So, guess who’s got a new camera?” Aforementioned camera pointed in Bellamy’s face, Nathan Miller didn’t wait to be invited in before heading further in to the room, slowly panning around “Me and Bryan are going to do a new video for my channel later – you want to help out?”

“I can’t today man, I’m-”

“After that some of the others want to go and check out that new place next to what used to be the old regular place opposite what’s now our current regular; there’s a karaoke night. You in?” Miller flopped down on to the sofa, camera in his lap.

“I can’t-”

“Okay – that was the _wrong_ answer, so let’s try again. Do you—”

“ _Miller._ ” Bellamy hissed, and it was enough to make his friend fall silent for long enough to notice the sound of the shower coming from the bathroom.

Miller’s eyes widened a little, but narrowed again just as quickly as he smirked “Anyone I know?”

“No – and it’s not like that. It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you.” Miller shook his head, getting to his feet again “Is she cute?”

Bellamy sighed, putting his hands on his hips and looking up at the ceiling. After a moment he nodded begrudgingly, jaw set as he ran a hand over his face and up in to his hair. Miller clapped a hand on his shoulder, shoving playfully. Bellamy shoved back; a brief wrestling match ensued – Miller having to grapple with keeping his camera safe and at the same time making sure Bellamy could see just how smug he was. When Clarke walked out of the bathroom both boys had their back to her and Miller had Bellamy in a one-armed headlock.

“Um,” Clarke folded her arms, holding her towel firmly in place. She was eyeing Miller’s camera warily.

“Oh, hey.” Miller turned, pulling Bellamy around with him; Bellamy shook himself free, giving Miller one last shove for good measure.

“Clarke—this is Miller. He was just leaving.” Bellamy was struggling to tear his eyes away from the water beaded across Clarke’s shoulders; he could feel Miller’s smirk boring in to the side of his head.

“Hey Clarke – do you like karaoke?”

 

 

“So what are you going to sing?”

Bellamy had hoped that Clarke had agreed to go to karaoke just to humour Miller, as a way to get him to leave – but she returned from her class still set on the idea, her hair pulled back in to a low, messy bun and a new spring in her step. Even now, walking together in the direction of the bar in the hazy light of the setting sun, he was trying to change her mind.

“I don’t sing.” Bellamy snorted softly, shaking his head “Look – we don’t have to go. You’re not going to know anyone.”

“I know – but I _want_ to. It’ll be fun. I’m fun. I like to have fun.” She was looking straight ahead as she said this, chin raised, as if she knew Bellamy would look at her, all scepticism and barely concealed laughter.

“Why has you saying that made me think it’s the furthest thing possible from the truth?”

“As of last night I’m currently homeless and sleeping in a stranger’s apartment, whilst the majority of my worldly belongings rot in water three feet deep the colour of—” She stopped herself, went to pinch the bridge of her nose and then winced and changed her mind; Bellamy saw a flicker in the corner of her mouth, like a crack on the surface of an icy lake “I could do with a little fun.”

Bellamy nodded. His arm brushed hers as they walked, their fingertips caught for a moment; neither one acknowledged it “Okay. Fun it is.”

The bar was a collage of neon, bare brickwork and Lichtenstein prints. Someone was already warbling their heart out on the small makeshift stage, completely out of time with the music despite it only being the first chorus.

“How does my nose look?” Clarke asked as they entered, her fingertips fluttering momentarily over her face; the tape was still there, the bruising a little more prominent than the day before, but only slightly. In the light of the bar it could have easily been dark shadows beneath her eyes.

“You look fine.” Bellamy assured her; wary of his eyes lingering on her face for too long, he quickly scanned the bar for his friends “Besides - it can be a conversation starter.”

“Hey Bellamy! Over here!”

They had pulled extra chairs around the table; Miller stood up, waving them over. Bellamy’s hand moved briefly to the small of Clarke’s back – he felt her eyes on him for a moment, but then the introductions began and they were swept up by the current.

“Okay, so – this is Monty and Harper, then we have Jasper; this is Bryan, and he’s taken, just so you know.” Miller emphasised this with a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek; Bryan made a show of wiping it away, but they were both smiling.

Clarke was quickly sucked in; somewhere along the line someone pressed a drink in to her hands as chairs were scraped apart to make room for her. Bellamy caught Miller’s eye as he sat down opposite him; smug again, the bastard. He wondered how much of a debriefing Miller had given everyone on the situation before they had arrived; no one had seemed surprised to see her.

“So – as we hear it, Bellamy broke your nose and then kidnapped you.” Jasper set his empty glass down with a flourish, looking at Clarke with his chin resting in his hands.

Bellamy slowly lowered his head in to his hands, a heavy sigh lifting and dropping his shoulders “That-”

“-Is _exactly_ what happened.” Clarke nodded, sipping her drink “I’m being held hostage, currently.”

“And how are you finding that?” asked Monty, head cocked in mock concern.

“Believe it or not,” Clarke spoke carefully, taking her time as she sipped her drink and pushed her hair back behind her ear “it’s the lesser of two evils.”

She went on to explain the situation with her apartment. Bellamy noticed the way she skirted around the topic of Vanessa Harington and the reward – she painted the handbag incident as a meet cute; Bellamy even saw Miller nudge Bryan, as if to say I told you so. Watching her talk, Bellamy realised that she was very careful with the information she chose to divulge; not that this was surprising. She was sat in the middle of a cluster of strangers, after all.

Their eyes met across the table and Bellamy became aware he was being spoken to.

“Isn’t that right, Bellamy?” Clarke said again; suddenly all eyes were on him.

“…what?”

“You just had to be a gentleman and take the sofa? Honestly man, you need to stop making the rest of us look bad.” Monty was laughing; Harper rolled her eyes.

“Monty had the flu a few weeks ago, and he wouldn’t even let me in the bedroom.”

“It was for your own good!”

Bellamy was still looking at Clarke; but in his defence, this was only because she was still looking at him. She raised her glass to her lips, sipped, and still she was looking at him. A small part of him wouldn’t mind if it never ended.

“Alright-” Jasper pushed his chair back from the table with a clutter “I’m singing ‘Take On Me’ and no-one can stop me.”

 

 

“I hate to break this to you man, but: you like her. Like, _like_ her.”

“Miller, I’m gonna put that cigarette out on your forehead if you keep this up.”

Miller had stepped outside to smoke and Bellamy had decided to join him; they were stood on the pavement a little way away from the doors – the strains of an awkward, giggly duet of “I Got You Babe” could just about be heard; there was a distinct possibility that it was coming from Monty and Harper.

“Look, I know you’re really happy being mine and Bryan’s third wheel, but—” Miller took a long, world-weary drag.

“I don’t enjoy being yours and Bryan’s third wheel--”

“Well you sure act like it. You don’t do a damn thing to change it.”

Bellamy huffed; he pinched the cigarette from between Miller’s fingers – punishment for pointing it at him in the first place – and took a quick drag. Miller shook his head.

“I’m just saying – if she hadn’t struck a serious chord, you would’ve already made a move.” He plucked the cigarette back, finishing it off and flicking it aside “The fact that you think she’s cute is obvious, and yet not once have you tried to hit on her.”

“She came looking for help and now she’s trapped with me for the weekend – wouldn’t trying something be taking advantage?” Bellamy pointed out; he brought his foot down lightly on the end of discarded cigarette.

“You gotta give out the right signals, Bell. Then she might be more likely to try something herself.” Miller spoke this wisdom like an ancient proverb, hands held out as if in meditation.

“Why are you pushing this?” Bellamy asked after a moment, hands deep in his pockets. The question hung in the air. Miller grew serious, a small, sad smile twisting his mouth.

“Sue me for liking the idea of you being happy, man.”

They began to walk back in to the bar, opening the doors in time to hear the applause for Monty and Harper’s duet – Miller began clapping louder than everyone, and the group at the table looked up as the two young men walked over. When Clarke caught Bellamy’s eye and smiled at him he felt it somewhere in his chest, and he decided he quite liked the idea of being happy, too.

 

 

“I really appreciate you guys – _hic –_ helping me out here, y’know.”

“Don’t mention it, Jasper.”

“But Bell- _hic_ -amy… if Clarke’s in the bed, and you’re on the sofa, where am _I_ going to sleep?”

“We’ll figure something out.” Bellamy said, grunting as he pulled Jasper’s arm a little more securely around his shoulder – the boy was struggling to put one foot in front of the other and hold his head up at the same time.

For what felt like the thousandth time that during the long walk home he glanced across at Clarke and mouthed _I’m sorry._ She was propping Jasper up from the other side, and Bellamy could tell her smile was becoming a little forced as she struggled. Whether she didn’t catch his whisper, or was pretending not to, she didn’t respond.

Miller had fought valiantly to try and convince Jasper to come home with him and Bryan – but Bryan had been far from keen, and their place was probably the furthest away from Jasper’s. Monty and Harper probably would have taken him, but they had had to leave before the others, needing more sleep because of an early start the next day. Bellamy didn’t like the idea of sending him home this drunk and alone in a cab, and so the responsibility had fallen to him. Jasper was a good guy – he’d just lost quite badly at the drinking game that he himself had devised. Bellamy was beginning to wonder if this had been intentional; if Jasper wasn’t going to open up to him just yet, the least Bellamy could do was offer him a place to stay.

Getting Jasper up the stairs to the apartment left everyone sweaty and irritated, and Bellamy had half a mind to dump Jasper straight in to the bath and turn the shower on. He had vomited, spectacularly, just outside of the building. Some of it had caught Clarke’s shoes, and she was graciously pretending not to have noticed; though she passed Jasper over to Bellamy completely as he opened the door, remaining outside to wipe her feet vigorously on the mat.

“Okay, sit tight, I’m getting you some water.” Bellamy eased Jasper down on to the sofa before heading in to the kitchenette to fill up a glass.

He passed it over and Jasper drained it in three quick, noisy gulps, before letting his head drop back against the sofa and his eyes fall shut. Bellamy sighed, running a hand over his face. When he looked up, Clarke was watching him from the doorway.

“You’re a good friend.” She observed, and whilst her tone was soft, some of the mood that had been beginning to brew earlier in the bar had definitely evaporated. Maybe it had been fate intervening.

Bellamy shrugged; Jasper had already keeled over a little, on the verge of snoring, so he leant down and wrapped the blanket he had used the night before haphazardly around him, before returning the empty glass to the kitchenette. Clarke was lingering on his periphery; when she came to lean against the counter beside him he could feel it more than see it, despite being focused on the sink. He set the glass on the draining board; her hand fell lightly on his arm, making the glass clink against the metal.

“I had a nice time tonight.” She gave his arm a squeeze “At least now I know you have friends, there’s less probability that you’re a psychopath.”

He snorted a soft laugh and her smile was dazzling – the brightest thing in the dimly lit kitchen.

“So, that being said,” She went on, and Bellamy noticed how the drinking had brought out a blush in her cheeks “I now feel safe in suggesting that we share the bed. You don’t want to try and cram on the sofa with Jasper – that’s the splash zone.”

As if on cue, Jasper gave a particularly gurgling snore; they both looked in his direction and winced, then caught each other’s eye – Clarke was biting back laughter, and Bellamy ducked his head to hide his smile.

“I can’t argue with that.”

Ten minutes later, Bellamy lay in bed in the dark, listening to Clarke brush her teeth in the bathroom. The tap was running, and when he heard her shut it off and the click of the bathroom light, for a brief moment he couldn’t breathe. The soft pad of her footsteps coming towards the bedroom resonated somewhere in his ribs. Feeling foolish, he rolled on to his side to face the wall; did he pretend to be asleep already? Would she want to talk, in the sleepy, lilting way that people did when their faces were close, after a few drinks? Most importantly: why was he worrying so much about it?

The door creaked open, and he knew she was trying to assess whether or not he was awake. He raised a hand in greeting, letting his arm stretch and then fall across his face. Clarke must’ve gotten changed in the bathroom, for she slipped straight beneath the covers – her foot brushed his leg for a quick moment, fleeting and cold, and she mumbled a quick apology in to her pillow.

“Was Jasper still breathing when you walked past?” Bellamy asked, his voice low. He rolled over a little to chance a glance across at Clarke through the darkness; she was lying like his mirror image – both on their backs, their faces turned towards each other.

“Mhmm. He’s gonna have a big headache in the morning.” She was smirking as she spoke; Bellamy could feel it as much as he could see it.

He wanted to ask if sure was sure that this was okay, ask how much she’d had to drink that night? Would there be that moment first thing in the morning where everything was a little too warm, a little too close; would the idea of sharing the bed seem stupid and embarrassing by daylight? A small voice somewhere in the back of his head that sounded frustratingly like Miller was asking why he was looking so desperately for reasons to hold back, and something about signals.

“Maybe I should have tried to keep up with him.” Clarke mused “If I was that drunk right now, I highly doubt I’d be thinking about water damage, or my lack of renter’s insurance…”

She turned her face in to the pillow for a moment, brow furrowed.

Bellamy’s hand groped for Clarke’s in the dark – uncertain and halting, until he brushed the back of her hand and the contact gave him fresh confidence. His fingers curled around hers and squeezed.

“It’ll get fixed, Clarke. We’ll get that reward – hell, if splitting it’s not enough, you can have my share too.”

She looked at him; her expression more guarded than ever before – or, this was the first time he had really recognised it – but her hand flexed almost imperceptibly around his “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. You need it more than I do – and there’s not a lot of people that can be said for right now, so…” Bellamy shrugged a little. The beginnings of a smile were beginning to play around Clarke’s mouth, just visible in the gloom, so he persisted “In a roundabout way, that actually makes you lucky.”

“You know, I’m starting to think maybe I am.” There was a pause after she spoke, and then a look passed over Clarke’s face, so fleeting that Bellamy could have blinked and missed it – but it made his skin prickle in the best way before it vanished.

Suddenly and with a final squeeze and murmured goodnight, she gently disentangled their fingers, turning over and pulling the covers up around her. Bellamy felt scattered for a moment; shrapnel being flung away from the centre of the blast. He shifted slightly, looking up at the ceiling and trying to ignore how the spaces in between his fingers felt so bare.


End file.
